


Ke'menios

by chains_archivist



Category: Nightrunner Series - Lynn Flewelling
Genre: Boys in Chains, M/M, Prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-15
Updated: 2015-03-15
Packaged: 2018-03-17 22:21:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3545852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chains_archivist/pseuds/chains_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A possible piece of Seregil's past</p><p>By Pumpkin</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ke'menios

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Dusk, the archivist: this work was originally archived at [Boys in Chains](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Boys_in_Chains), which opened in 2000 as a multifandom archive for both fiction and art, but then sadly went offline in 2005. To bring the archive back, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in December 2014. Open Doors [posted an announcement](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/1832) and e-mailed all creators about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this [author/artist], please [contact the Open Doors committee](http://transformativeworks.org/contact/open%20doors).

  
Seregil stood by the window, disconsolately watching the wind drive the falling snow against the thick, lead pane. Turning his back on the blizzard, he leaned indolently against the window, surveying the room.   
  
With the bad weather there were only a few patrons seeking warm bodies to share their night with and it seemed they were all already spoken for. The howl of the wind up the Street of Lights reinforced the improbability of anyone else making their way here. He doubted that the green lantern hanging from Azarin's lintel still burned; the ferocity of the wind likely to have extinguished the flame in its emerald cradle.   
  
Many of his co-workers had already paired up, curled together in the couches by the big fireplace, bodies moving, echoing the lewd murals that ringed the room. He looked around for Treweln or Harod, the young blonds his favourite partners when he was caught himself without a patron, but they both proved to be otherwise occupied; Treweln leading an old, soft looking noble up the stairs while Harod was sandwiched between the twins on the couch closest to the fire.   
  
He contemplated joining them but they were already well underway, hips snapping together in a frantic rhythm. At any rate he preferred the more intimate experience of one on one.   
  
He sighed and shifted against the window, the pane cold on his back, his silk vest offering no protection against the vagaries of the weather.   
  
He was about to slink back upstairs, resigned to spending the night alone when the front door swung open, the wind catching it and slamming it against the wall. All eyes, including his own, swung to the stranger who stood there, wind pushing snow and sleet in with him.   
  
Seregil swallowed and stepped away from the window, moving into the shadows without even thinking. The stranger was tall and thin, bearing elegant and unmistakable.   
  
Aurenfaie.   
  
Seregil didn't recognize the man, didn't recognize the sen'gai tucked beneath the cloak that was handed over to Azarin to be hung in the vestibule with his boots; the stranger must have been from one of the clans they hadn't associated much with when he'd been a boy. He felt fear and desire go through him, wanting to reach out to this stranger, but afraid of the reaction.   
  
Would he be shunned? Or would the man not recognize him, not know that he was exiled.   
  
It had been years since he'd seen another 'faie, years since he'd heard the language of his youth, his childhood, his birth, spoken properly. Longing surged through him like a wave, painfully tightening his throat, pushing him forward even though he knew he should hang back, stay in the shadows unseen.   
  
He told himself he should turn back, even as he drew closer, eyes meeting those of the tall stranger. Azarin had closed the door and turned, seeing him, holding a hand out to him, smiling.   
  
"Ah, Rolan, just who I wanted to see. Come, come."   
  
Seregil linked his hand through Azarin's arm and smiled up at the 'faie through his eyelashes. The stranger stared at him and Seregil felt as though the emerald eyes were cutting through him, reading all his secrets. He fully expected the man to sneer, to accuse him and turn his back, perhaps even leave despite the tempest that brewed on the other side of the door.   
  
Instead he nodded at Azarin and held out his own arm. Azarin took Seregil's hand and slid it into the crook of the stranger's arm.   
  
"Rolan is one of our favourites, I think you'll find yourself very happy with his services."   
  
Azarin bowed and left them with practiced ease and Seregil turned his attention back to the man who had hired him for the evening.   
  
"Rolan?" said the stranger. "Funny, I would have imagined you to have a much more...musical name."   
  
"Your lordship?"   
  
"You can call me Everind," the stranger told him, "and I would have laid odds down that you were Aurenfaie like myself, but Rolan's not a 'faie name, is it?"   
  
"I wouldn't know," suggested Seregil, keeping his eyes lowered. He could feel the keen, green gaze on him for a few moments longer and then Everind spoke again.   
  
"Well it's been awhile since I've been back and you're enough like my kinsmen to take the edge off my homesickness -your name matters little."   
  
"Would you like to take some refreshment?" asked Seregil, ignoring the hurt the casual words brought as he indicated the grand foyer with all its pleasures in front of them.   
  
"If I was hungry or thirsty I wouldn't have come *here*," replied Everind. "I presume you have a room that affords a little more privacy than the couches?"   
  
"Of course," agreed Seregil, turning to the stairs and leading his patron up them. He trailed his hand over the dark wood of the banister and, conscious of Everind's eyes on him, augmented his natural grace, letting his body move sinuously within its silk covering. He could feel the fall of his long hair sliding against his back, the bottom of it reaching the top of his own bottom, brushing the base of his spine and making him shiver in delight.   
  
The lighting up here was dimmer, only one or two candles burning in recesses, offering enough light to suggest the hall was elegant, that the tapestries that lines the walls were made of silver and gold threads. The rug was soft and thick beneath Seregil's bare feet, making each step a pleasure. His room was several doors to the right of the staircase. Everind seemed content to let him lead the way, the 'faie following silently.   
  
The door that barred the way to his room was made of wood, carved with two youths, rutting on the forest floor, the trees rising in majestic phallic splendour around them. Everind chuckled and Seregil smiled wryly.   
  
"A bit obvious," he suggested as he opened the door and preceded the 'faie in.   
  
Everind said nothing, but it was he who closed the door, the sound sharp and final to Seregil's ears.   
  
He couldn't turn back now, for good or ill he was here, with another 'faie. Everind tilted Seregil's head and took his mouth in a kiss, the man's tongue pressing inside, soft and questioning, soon becoming deep and probing. It was bittersweet -as long as he didn't acknowledge his heritage, who he was, he didn't have to tell this man who he and what he was.   
  
The other man tasted of the cold and snow, and the sweetness Seregil had only known Aurenfaie to have. He moaned softly and opened his mouth wider.   
  
Everind took his invitation, plundering deeper and pushing him back against his door. The tall body followed, pressing him in place and he could feel Everind's arousal - long, slender and all hard heat. His own body was responding to the stimulation, arousal lighting more quickly through his body at the knowledge that this man was 'faie and forbidden to him.   
  
A large, fine hand cupped his jaw and held him in place as the kiss grew harsher, more urgent. Everind's other hand moved over his body, caressing skin and silk alike.   
  
Finally Everind pulled back. "Take them off," he ordered, voice harsh with need. Seregil's fingers moved to the laces holding the vest together in front, sliding over the silk and slowly untying them, teasing.   
  
Everind made an impatient noise in the back of his throat and his hands pulled the vest apart and off Seregil, letting the material drop to the floor, forgotten, and he pulled the silk leggings off with equal haste.   
  
He pushed Seregil to his knees and undid the ties on his own breeches, freeing his erection. Seregil leaned forward and licked the hot length, circling the head with his tongue and pressing into the slit at the tip. He teased and aroused, licking and nibbling.   
  
Everind's hands moved to the back of his head, pressing him forward, his intent unmistakeable. Seregil opened his mouth wide and took the long shaft in until his nose was pressed tightly against Everind's groin. The other 'faie made a noise of pleasure, Seregil's only warning before Everind was riding his mouth, hands holding him in place.   
  
He increased his suction and attempted to run his tongue over the flesh that invaded him, but Everind just kept moving in and out of his mouth in long, deep strokes. The 'faie moved faster and faster, thrusts coming quicker, harder, until with a triumphant "yes!" Everind came.   
  
Seregil drank him in, the bitter salt bite of the fluid burning down his throat.   
  
Everind pulled out and moved away, leaving Seregil on his knees by the door, naked and panting, his own shaft hard and aching. Still fully dressed, the 'faie dropped down into the divan by the fire which provided the only illumination in the room. Everind waved his hand and Seregil stood, making his way to his patron's side.   
  
"I could use that drink now - if you don't have to go far to find it."   
  
Seregil padded to the small table by the bed and poured Everind a glass of the sherry he stocked. He watched the man as he drank the alcohol, savouring it slowly.   
  
"This is good." Everind sounded surprised and Seregil allowed himself a small smile.   
  
"I insist on the best."   
  
That made his patron laugh. Everind's head rolled back and the sound, rich and thick, poured over Seregil like a gentle Aurenen rainfall. He felt a stab of homesickness take his breath away and he barely kept his lips closed over his disclosure of his roots.   
  
He wanted to tell this man his name, tell him that he had the pleasure of being serviced by Seregil i Korit of Bokthersa. But he didn't; mixed with that pride was the shame of what he'd done, the shame of being exiled.   
  
Instead he took the glass from Everind, letting his fingers linger. "Another?" he asked, nothing of his longing and pain in his voice. Everind shook his head and grabbed Seregil's hand, tugging him down on top of the long, lean body.   
  
"Undress me with your teeth."   
  
Straddling his patron, Seregil held his hands behind his back and leaned down to undo the fancy laces that ran down the front of Everind's tunic. He could feel the shaft pressed against his buttocks heat and lengthen as Everind's arousal renewed. His own shaft ached, desperate for release, but he slowly worked the tunic off Everind's body, ignoring of his own need.   
  
The 'faie sat back, reclining on the divan; if it hadn't been for the insistent throb of heat beneath him, Seregil would have thought the man unaffected by his ministrations.   
  
It took him some time to get the tunic off, but at last he managed and wriggled down to work Everind's breeches off. Luckily the ties had already been opened and instead of the tight breeches currently in fashion, the 'faie wore a pair that were loose fitting and slid easily down his legs.   
  
Once Everind was naked, he reached out and pulled Seregil back down onto him, taking another kiss from Seregil's mouth. His skin was soft against Seregil's, warm and soft. He knew Everind's skin wasn't different from the other men he'd serviced, but it still felt different against his own, felt like a small piece of what he'd been forced to leave behind. He groaned, writhing and pressing his erection against Everind.   
  
The 'faie urged him up and stood with him. Everind kissed him again, forcing his mouth open with firm lips and a strong, knowing tongue, bending his head back. He could feel his own hair brushing the top of his buttocks and Everind ran one of his hands through the long locks all the way down to the end of Seregil's spine.   
  
An agile finger slid along his cleft, pressing against his opening and Seregil felt a shudder go through his body. The kiss finally ended and Everind turned him, pushed him down until his hands were braced against the divan.   
  
"Don't move," came the soft but steel order and he remained where he was, buttocks in the air, shaft hard and curving to his belly. He moaned as the desperate need to move set in, his shaft throbbing and aching for release. Finally he felt Everind's heat behind him again and a slick finger pushed into him, breaching his body with shocking but welcome suddenness.   
  
Everind's finger twisted and slid back and forth and then retreated again. Seregil whimpered at it's absence, the sound turning into a gasp as Everind's slender length was pushed into his body in a single, long stroke.   
  
Moaning, he shifted and pushed back as Everind remained buried in him, unmoving.   
  
"Ready?" asked the man and it was only after Seregil moaned 'yes' that he realised the word had been spoken in Aurenfaie.   
  
That fact was soon lost in the sensations coursing through his body, the long shaft sliding over his prostate with each stroke, the hands that gripped his hips and the sound of their flesh slapping together. The pleasure built inside him, doubling when one of the hands holding him slid around to stroke his shaft, trebling when the other travelled all the way up his chest to pinch his nipples. Seregil came, open mouthed but silent.   
  
He locked his knees to keep from buckling as Everind continued to thrust into him. It wasn't very long before the 'faie was also coming, a soft grunt the only sound he made.   
  
Seregil collapsed onto the divan, Everind coming down with him. The material of the chair was rough against his skin, and cool, but Everind was hot and soft on top of him. Their breathing slowly returned to normal and Seregil twisted his head back, seeking Everind's for a kiss, but the 'faie was sliding from his body and standing.   
  
One large hand touched the small of his back and pressed him down: a silent order not to move. Seregil obeyed, happy not to have to command his muscles to work just yet. It took a few moments to realise that Everind was getting dressed and as Seregil turned to ask what he was doing, the 'faie bent over him, whispering in his ear.   
  
"I know who you are, ke'menios."   
  
The words were spoken in Aurenfaie and followed by the soft sounds of Everind moving to the door. The wood with its ornate carving open and closed almost silently, leaving Seregil alone.   
  
The words rang loudly in his mind, even the frigid howl of the wind around the house not drowning them out. He shivered and pushed himself to his feet, staggering to the bed and burying himself beneath the covers. He wasn't hurt, not physically, but he felt empty and cold inside, the usual well-fucked and satiated sleep eluding him.   
  
He felt used in a way that he never had before, and he decided that come morning he would tender his resignation, leave Azarin's for good. He curled himself into a tight ball beneath the covers, ignoring the mocking voice in his head accusing him of running away yet again.   
  
End.

**Author's Note:**

> Ke'menios (Aurenfaie): whore (source http://www.sff.net/people/Lynn.Flewelling/NightrunnerGlossary.html)


End file.
